


a wish for the dreaming

by bakeoff



Category: Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Everyone Literally Dies, First Kiss, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Japanese Folklore, Komahina Secret Exchange, M/M, Red Strings of Fate, Reincarnation aus, Suicide Attempt, Vengeful Spirits, Youkai, also highkey it's implied Ko still has his luck, but it's unsuccessful, i had to add ikusaba because i love her, on or off screen, this took me so long to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 08:29:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16193834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakeoff/pseuds/bakeoff
Summary: "It takes Komaeda three days to realise that Hinata can see him, and five to realise Hinata's been painting him.It takes them six to acknowledge each other."In which Hinata has sixth sense, the ability to see the world of the spirits; and Komaeda's another whisper of the past that the world's too large to remember.





	a wish for the dreaming

**Insignificance** (n.)

"the quality of being too small or unimportant to be worth consideration."

The world is big. Too big, sometimes. It overwhelms him in its largeness; steals his sense of wonder and replaces it with tiredness.

His world is big- it's never been small enough to feel like it's his, even at home. The mansion's towering walls and spiraling pillars are easy to get lost in. The winding staircases and the ceilings that he knows he'll never grow tall enough to touch have been there as long as he can remember. The ceilings are marvelous, bearing armfuls of crystal chandeliers and swirling patterns engraved into their marble. The patterns waltz their way around one another; occasionally, they unite, in vortexes of gold and silver and bronze.

It doesn't feel like it's his, even if Papa says it is. The one hundred rooms and the ceramic tiles, the crowd of prim and proper maids and butlers that gracefully move across their mansion.

 _I could play hide and seek in here_ , he thinks one day. _Maybe, if I find a friend who loves me enough, they'll look for me. Even if it's just for a little bit._

But that would take them days. He can clearly picture himself then, curled up behind a staircase on the third floor, tucked under the double bed in the 6th guest bedroom, looking over the balcony on the top floor. Waiting, waiting, waiting. In the best of his fantasies, no chandeliers fall from the ceiling, and his feet never slip on the top stair.

He can imagine his imaginary friend's footsteps echo with each step. He can imagine his name being called- he can even fabricate the teasing, anticipatory tone with which they call his it. _I'm so close! I can almost feel you here, now!_

In times like these, the fantasy feels something akin to reality, and the world shrinks to encompass just him and his friend.

But that's as far as he can get. Soon, his mind runs out of story to write. The footsteps fade into the back of his mind, taking with them the friendly voice.

It all ends in the same way. Nagito's never found.

But maybe that's okay. Maybe the world can just be big. Big enough for everyone else, and just a bit too big to remember to account for a small, vacant thing like him.

 

Papa is a nice man. He’s proper, impressive, hard-working, and well regarded in the community.

"Our first trip as a family. Isn't this exciting?" he's smiling. His eyes are gray; tired despite his _proper_ , _impressive_ posture. They're glued to his phone screen.

"I've had them pack everything.,” says Nagito’s mother. “It'll go well."

Nagito doesn't respond, but he makes sure to smile at them. It's not as though they're looking. But that's okay; he can't remember the last time anyone looked at him, _really_ looked at him. The world's too big for that. There are so many other things to see, after all. Although he wishes they’d look down for just a bit, the part of himself that wishes has been silenced a while ago.

Still, he takes comfort in the pair of hands that slip into his, and he's sure his parents are trying their best. The great gates open, welcoming them into a world full of new wonders.

It's time to go.

 

 

.

 

 

**Wonder (n.)**

"a feeling of amazement and admiration, caused by something beautiful, remarkable, or unfamiliar."

 

 

Hinata's world starts small.

In fact, he can think back to the first relevant moment of his life that he can remember with startling clarity.

He was three, maybe four years old. A child, intrigued by bright lights and fluctuating voices, terrified of loud crashes, fascinated by changing colors and flashing screens and colorful characters on their TV.

He can't really remember whether or not his father was home, but his mother definitely was. The scene is vivid. The crimson wall drapes drawn across the closed glass windows, the quiet hum of a woman's voice from the kitchen where the sizzling of a pan can be heard. He even remembers the little green squishy toy his father had bought him. He was occupying himself with it, amused by the sound it made when he squished hard enough.

Squick! Squick! Squick! Hinata grinned, squishing harder in hopes of eliciting something more.

And then came the gentle footsteps. Hinata looked up from his toy, his interest in it waning. His eyes locked on a sizable creature; nearly his own size, if not just a bit bigger. He remembers the curious white markings that dot its black fur around its eyes, just above where the whiskers are. He distinctly remembers its long, fluffy tail best of all.

At that point, Hinata dropped his toy completely. He had no idea where the creature had come from- and he didn't really care, either. It was here now, and it was fluffy, and strange, and _he really wanted to touch it._

What was it called again? Hinata remembered that their neighbor had one of those, but that one certainly wasn't as curious-looking as this one. Its name, though…

The creature strutted towards him, its head raised, whiskers moving. Hinata's eyes were wide with wonder. He reached a tentative hand. The creature bowed its head, letting him touch it, to his utter delight.

"Cat!" he piped up. "Cat! Cat! Cat!"

His mother came into the room a while later, but he'd been almost deaf to her footsteps in his childish amusement. The cat had bounced on its hind legs for him, too, maneuvering itself around him playfully. He clapped as it danced in a way he'd never seen their neighbor's cat do.

”Hajime?" his mother called.

The sizzling from the kitchen stopped. The cat curled its tail around Hajime's middle. He struggled to suppress his giggles. When he looked up to meet his mother’s eyes, he found them wide and round, peering at him intently. Her smile was just a bit hesitant.

"Cat," Hinata said simply. He wrapped his arms around the cat's middle, burying his face into its fur. It was too big and heavy for him to lift.

"...Cat?" she repeated, her smile melting into something more natural. "Have you imagined yourself a pet, little one?"

 _Imagined?_ He didn't know what that meant at the time, but it wouldn't be long before he did.

The cat's tail remained wrapped around his middle. Its eyes were big and white, like two moons. The neighbor's cat didn't have a tail this long at all! It was short and bobbed; quite different from his new friend's impressive black tail.

"It's big, and it's soft,." Hajime said, pleased. Its fur tickled the side of his face.

His mother smiled, unconcerned. "I'm sure it is."

 

.

 

Hopefully, today is the day Hinata manages to convince the youkai to leave him alone once and for all-- though in the end it’ll most likely be another day of him hoping that he could.

Being a seer is hard. The world is less layered, he has learnt, and simply big. It's big enough for humans, animals, plants; and it's big enough for youkai, spirits, and the other various types of the supernatural that he's probably entirely unaware of. The smallest part of the equation is the human mind’s capacity to comprehend the largeness of the world and the other creatures that inhabit it.

Hinata bikes his way across the familiar bridge that leads home. Most prefer not to take that path- Hinata shouldn't either, all things considered. But it's much quieter- much less cluttered with the two separate worlds he’s a part of. Silence and privacy are precious things.

The woods aren't very thick; they're amiable and chilly, devoid of any life apart from the various trees and shrubs and flowers that freckle the earth. Youkai sometimes like to mess around in woods. But not these woods.

These woods are Hinata’s.

Hinata takes the short path across the wooden bridge, the tires of his bike easily taking to the old wood. It seems to creak and crack under his weight, but it doesn't give. It never does.

Stray branches crack and snap; leaves crinkle. Some fall from branches and find themselves a home in his chestnut hair.

He rides until the trees thin. An overgrown ring of flowers stays unattended to amidst flourishing greens. A circle of sakura trees guards the place, and a single, koi-carved fountain crowns the bed of greens, as dry as it is mournfully lonely.

Even songbirds have abandoned this place for the season, it seems.

Hinata doesn't quite understand why such a promising park was abandoned, but he's not about to start complaining. He quite likes the area.

He plops down on the grass, legs crossed. His satchel’s inside lends him his 4B and his sketchbook, and he finds them in their usual position, tucked beneath his mirror and his charm.

Hinata puts pencil to paper, and remembers.

The universe is constantly expanding, and so is Hinata's world. He can't pinpoint the precise moment when he understood - really understood - that there's another world open to him.

Open to him, and him only… wondrous, at first. Every new thing is wondrous, until the loneliness starts to settle in.

Then, he started to sketch.

 

.

 

**Resignation (n.)**

“the acceptance of something undesirable but inevitable.”

 

_It hurts._

_It hurts so much, more than broken shards of glass from fallen chandeliers and tripping down spiraling stairs, more than the variety of wounds he's acclimated over his life, more than walking barefoot where he shouldn't, more than Papa's anger when he spills his drinks onto his clothes. This is the most pain he’s ever been in._

_His clothes.... ah, they're so sooty and blackened now. He can barely see with the thick fog that clouds his vision. He can't move his arms. He can't. But he can see that the white of his button up is singed and dirtied. This was supposed to be a vacation, this was..._

_Papa's going to be so angry. It isn't supposed to happen. They were going to be happy. They were going to spend time together, really spend time together for once._

_His thoughts are cut short by the wave of nausea that hits him. Battering rams hammer into his skull. He doubles over, his body screaming louder than the silhouettes of people hidden behind the smoke. A whimper is all he can manage._

_This is the realest he’s ever felt ._

_Smoke and ash clog his lungs; the crackling of fire mingles with howls of terror, sounds unlike anything he has heard before, and that now consume him._

_Everything's broken._

_He can't breathe or scream._

...

...

...

And then it all stops.

 

.

 

 

Change starts with cruel simplicity.

After school activities are a bit tiring. Though Hinata usually doesn't mind offering a helping hand at all, he has to admit that the class's shared enthusiasm is overwhelming in a way that leaves him both dumbfounded and emotionally exhausted from the sheer effort he has to put into trying to catch up.

His hands are sore from long hours of working his assigned pair of scissors around decoration papers, and there's a bandage wrapped around his thumb, courtesy of a careless grab at the aforementioned pair of scissors.

But things aren't bad. The sun's sinking into the pinkening clouds when the bells ring to signify the end of the day. Laughter fills the air like music. Quiet chatter amongst group of friends softens the atmosphere. Spring is chilly in the best of ways, and the air smells of fresh starts and relief.

Hinata digs his hands into the pockets of the light coat he was made to wear. He remembers his mother's voice chiding him when he got splotches of sunflower yellow on it the other day. She hasn't quite managed to wash it out, but it's the only weather suitable article of clothing he has. Hinata quietly breathes in. His eyelids are growing heavy. He yearns for the warmth of home, for a place to shut his eyes and stop thinking about the world. His eyes turn away from the melting palette of the saturated sky, from the heads of young primary schoolers, away from the silver gates.

They lock onto something else. A small girl, with a dark head of obsidian, pulling herself from the crowd. She seems to seek solace in the pavement outside the school gates. Pale arms cradle a pile of notebooks, all of which are pressed to her chest, their covers digging into the underside of her chin. Hinata thinks he might recognise her. They’re in the same grade, after all, even if she is from another class. He can’t seem to remember her name, though.

She doesn't look up.

 _Follow along_ , says something inside of him. A force, an unidentifiable voice, screaming at him to trail behind her. Discomfort blossoms within him like a bush of thorned roses, puncturing holes into his resolve.

And so, like a puppet urged by the pull of invisible strings, he goes to her.

 

Ikusaba Mukuro. That's her name.

Ikusaba Mukuro, 11, stands over a bridge. Her eyes are fixed unto the rushing water below. To an outsider, her gaze is merely contemplative.

Only the most observing person can see the way her hands grip the bridge’s wooden railing tightly, and only Hinata can see the spirit which floats behind her, whispering in her ear.

 _“Come, now! Don’t be such a wuss, little sister!”_ cackles the spirit, her eyes are as wicked as her horns are sharp.

 _“Jump! Come on! Take a dive down the rabbit hole of death, won’tcha? Then you can join me_ and _stop being such a burdensome little bitch to our parents. Huh? Huh?”_

Ikusaba’s breath catches in her throat.

The spirit floats above the river, spreading her arms in a wide, dramatic gesture. _“You_ can _hear my voice! I know a bore like you could never have sixth sense, but you can feel me. Can’t you?”_ Her mouth splits into a large, toothy grin.

 _“So how about it? Come see me, little sister. I’ve missed you so,_ so, _much, ever since the day you left me to die.”_

Ikusaba lets out a strangled cry. Her facade breaks, and her calm expression transforms into one of sorrow- sorrow someone their age should not even come close to understanding.

Hinata watches, frozen, as she props her arms against the railing, leans forward, _and…._

“Ikusaba, no!”

Hinata’s arms wrap around her chest from behind, drawing her back from the bridge’s railing. Only a choked breath leaves Ikusaba as the two of them tumble backwards. Hinata tries to breathe.

Ikusaba’s still in his arms.

“What just… what just happened,” she whispers, a tremor to her voice.

And then, without warning, she’s out like a light.

The evil spirit isn’t.

 

.

 

 

Hinata learns a lot about Onryo - or vengeful ghosts - through Enoshima Junko.

He learns that youkai can be more than cute bakenekos and the occasional ghosts that will leave him alone should he bend his head and carry on. He learns that he’s not untouchable, even if they usually can’t cause him great physical harm.

He learns about Enoshima herself, and how they’d failed to save her from drowning.

 _“But it’s all fine,”_ she snorts, taking great interest in her dangerously sharp white nails. _“I don’t actively care about_ that _anyway. It’s much more fun, being a vengeful spirit, and harnessing all of this loathsome energy. Being alive and passing peacefully- isn’t that such a bore?”_

Enoshima grins at Hinata, hand placed on her chin. _“Say… Hinata-kun. Ever heard about the order of balance? Cheeky little fuck, aren’tcha, trying to mess up the world’s balance like that by being a_ seer _and all!”_

 _“F_ uck off, now,” Hinata responds, turning over and raising the blanket over his head. He tries to still his beating heart, but to no avail.

Enoshima rips the blanket off without any trouble. Hinata shuts his eyes, swallowing as as cold rush of air makes  him tremble. He doesn’t want to see her. He doesn’t want to see her, but he knows that should he open his eyes, he’d find her there all the same.

_“God! Why won’t you listen? This is how the world works, Hinata-kun! You take something away, it comes back to gnaw your puny little ass off!”_

“Leave me alone,” he says through gritted teeth.

 _“Hellllllo? Do your ears need cleaning?”_ Enoshima’s voice drops. She sounds almost disappointed. _“You’re being so boring about this, you know? Don’t you understand? You take away my haunt, you become my next haunt! Going around sticking your ugly nose in everyone’s business and expecting no consequences. That’s just like you sixth sense folk.”_

Hinata’s eyes snaps open to meet Enoshima’s harsh gaze, mere centimetres away from him. Yelping, he tumbles from his bed, head hitting the floorboards harshly. Stars swims in his vision.

Enoshima watches him from above, and puts an innocent finger to her chin, her expression deceptively thoughtful.

 _“Say, Hinata-kun. You sure seem to be having loads of trouble adjusting.”_ With her other hand, she twirls a lock of faded hair around her pinky finger. _“You best calm down quickly, or I’ll just have to spirit you away from here!”_

 

.

 

 

Yukizome Chisa is the name of the shrine maiden that Hinata’s mother takes him to when he confesses that the  bags under his eyes and self-induced scratch marks on his skin have less to do with natural adolescent struggles and more so the fact that there’s a malevolent spirit haunting him.

She is a kind woman with a warm smile that urges the summer out of winter at an alarming rate. When Hinata speaks to her, she listens, and Enoshima seems to start sticking around less and less.

Yukizome lends him a charm that’s supposed to protect him from the evils of the spirit world and tells him to keep his head down. She  teaches him to find comfort in temple grounds and shrines, and even thinks of him when she needn’t. She brings him kusamochi and baked cookies. In turn, Hinata opens his heart to her and finds the most genuine kind of companionship he’s ever had.

He shares stories- not all of which are unpleasant before the appearance of a certain Enoshima Junko - and speaks of that which he could never speak before.

By the time winter evolves into spring, Enoshima’s gone.

 

…

 

But she isn’t. Not really.

Enoshima reappears again right before summer opens its doors. Life seems almost normal by then, without the resentful aura that clings to his back. He sees youkai still, but their presence has always been a natural occurrence. He learns to turn his eyes and train them on the ground. He learns, instead, to paint what evokes his curiosity rather than pursue it.

“It’s a healthy, no-risk way to confine your emotions, isn’t it? Not to mention, you’re excellent at painting. Come over to my house and teach me how to paint like that, will you?” Yukizome had suggested with a kind smile.

When Hinata visits Yukizome, the red that meets his eyes is most certainly not paint.

Enoshima treats the air like a throne; cross legged, she hovers over Yukizome’s still, bloodied body. Crimson soaks the shrine maiden’s turquoise summer yukata, one that he subconsciously remembers the shrine maiden mentioning was her favourite. Clutched around her hands, the glint of a knife’s blade tells a buried tale.

Someone’s screaming- it’s a loud, terrible thing that fills the misssing the default warmth of Yukizome’s home with blood curdling terror.

It’s only when Hinata’s throat feels raw and pained does he realise it had been him. Paintbrushes and sketchbooks scatter across the floor. His knees grow weak.

“Why…. _Why?”_ Hinata chokes on his sobs.

Enoshima justifies nothing. Instead, she tips her head to side, grins widely, and twirls a pale lock around her finger slowly.

“Oops.” she drawls.

 

.

 

 

Lots of things happen after that. Enoshima abandons him for real- he can only assume she got bored. But he’s too overwhelmed to feel relief. For the following hours, Hinata can’t taste anything but self disgust and regret, regret, _regret._

 

.

 

There's a careless cruelty to the way time changes things. It isn't always as generous as people promise it to be.

 

Often, the passage of time is numbing rather than healing. What it does for Hinata is provide painkillers rather than cures.

 

Yukizome’s death is ruled a suicide by the police. When Hinata reaches for the mountain of words that battle for an outlet in his throat, he sputters, chokes on uneven breaths and a hailstorm of tears, and comes up empty. It's too hard to speak, after that.

 

So Hinata stops.

 

The abandoned park houses him when no place else is quiet enough. He's always alone there, apart from the company of the occasional bird, though even they don't come here often.

Until a pale boy in hospital attire shows up atop one of the benches one evening, when the setting sun leaves the sky a tender shade of violet

 

It takes the pale boy three days to realise that Hinata can see him, and five to realise he's been painting him.

It takes them six to acknowledge one another.

.

 

 **Friendship (n.)**  
"the emotions or conduct of friends; the state of being friends."

.

 

 

Hinata's almost late to their meeting- almost.

The wheels of his bicycle mercilessly crush the hapless twigs and autumn leaves that get in their way, moving along their familiar path into the familiar forest. It's quiet today, too, but Hinata doesn’t have time to linger. Today is different. Today, he can't stop to admire the new trees that spring from the fresh earth, newborn. He doesn’t have the time to stop and hear the chirping of songbirds atop old branches withered by winter.

Hinata's breath comes heavy as he continues towards the old, abandoned garden. His palms feel cold and uncomfortable against the handles of his bicycle, and his satchel's heavier than usual and stuffed to the brim with sketchbooks.

The world blurs in front of his eyes as he presses forward, cycling across the path.  

 

.

 

_I’ve missed you_

 

Komaeda tastes the words on his tongue, whispers them mindlessly to the air. The park seems to wither further and further into the winter, bidding its lovely flowers and the pink flurry of its sakura trees goodbye.

He isn't here yet. _Of course, he isn't here-_ _yet... why? Why isn't he here?_ His thoughts seem to engage in locked combat, fiery and vicious, statements of logic and paranoia tearing one another apart.

Komaeda wishes breathing made a difference anymore. He wishes that things still hurt- wishes he could feel the way his nails dig into pale skin. The sting of it is nothing but a distant memory, almost a faded dream.

The world's always been large, that much is correct. He's used to being forgotten, lulled into the comfort of invisibility- but before, at least, he was visible to himself, viable to suffering bitter cold and harsh sunlight and pain, and occasionally, even the warm touch of a hand. Though that was a far rarer occurrence, he thinks. He can't remember very much at all, but he only remembers touch when he strains himself.

Now the world leaves him behind.

He's fading- fading, fading out of reality, a spectator in a show he's never been a part of, a-

Komaeda's thoughts are interrupted by the sound of rushing footsteps. In the distance, paving his way through the paling remnants of the park's lush green, body gasping for lungfuls of air, comes Hinata Hajime.

Komaeda's vision blurs into a palette of faded colors, the brightest among them being Hinata's yellow winter coat, defiantly brilliant, popping out like its colors were borrowed from the sun itself.

Komaeda reaches to wipe away his misty eyes, and his heart would thunder if it could still beat. It's a wonder that he can cry at all.

He raises an arm. Grins.

"I see you made it again, Hinata-kun!"

 

.

 

 

"I thought you wouldn't come today." His voice sounds far too upbeat for the suggestion he's offering. As always. Hinata squints at him questioningly.

How irritating.... Does he really believe Hinata will up and abandon him one day?

Hinata plops down beside his light haired companion, placing the satchel between them. At times like these he wishes he could still speak, just so he could hear himself deadpan an all too common, _Well, I'm here now. I'm never going to not show up. I'm never going to leave for good._

Birds dance along the sakura branches in the distance, filling the quiet air between them with song. It's strange to see life here aside from the unattended to shrubs with their resilient flowers, the uneven greenery, and the weeds that found themselves a home amongst the cracks in the fountain. Hinata's painted this place several times before, immortalizing its fluctuating state from season to season.

He pops open his satchel, and his hands reach towards his notebook. Hinata flips through pages full of inconsistently written sentences across several pages. It's only when a blank page greets him that he reaches for his pen, too.

_It's always me you're worried about. How do I know you won't disappear one day and not show up again?_

Loathe as he is to admit it, the words he writes awaken a dormant concern.

Komaeda's smile wavers, if only a little. His pale fingers tap against the wooden benches. If Hinata strains his ears, he can hear the periodic sound they make. Komaeda turns to face him then, hair like snowfall tipping into his eyes when he tilts his head. A pair of gray-green eyes, the color of wilting branch leaves in brutal winter, meet Hinata's. They're intent; purposeful in a way that young eyes shouldn't be.

"For someone so wonderful, Hinata-kun, you sure can be a bit oblivious."

Hinata's head snaps in his direction. His eyes narrow further, accusatory. Komaeda presses on.

"I wouldn't go back there. There's nothing to see in the hospital anymore, other than more and more dying people. It's like that between you and me, isn't it? You do have sixth sense, after all- the universe wanted for you to see its numerous wonders for yourself. It opened up the world for your scrutiny alone."

He makes gestures as he speaks, and he appears almost... animated. Alive, but not truly. The wind picks up. Leaves and petals sway.

"...I'm just one small thing amongst many to see, aha. I'll come to bore you soon, just like my old place bored me. The difference is that your options in where to go are not limited, you see?"

Komaeda's gaze does not leave him. Hinata's hands twitch; his grip on the pen tightens. A snappy retort claws its way up his throat and dies on his lips.

Hinata writes. His wrist aches from the pressure, but it almost doesn't register.

_That's not how these things work._

All he can do is hope the weight of his stare, as futile as it might be, leaves an impact- that his sentiment carries through, because he's short for words. Short for energy, or the strength to write away all the reasons his sixth sense isn't a blessing, has never been, will never be.

He thinks back to the silhouette of a girl peering over a bridge, to rosewood floorboards painted red, to nights spent hiding away in a closet that reeks of fear and tastes of tears, charm pressed to his heart, and words, so many words. At first whispered under his breath, and then screamed inside his head.

Komaeda's eyes fall from his.

"...Okay. I wouldn't want you to be angry with me, after all. Selfish of me to dare asking, I'm sure, if I'm even still allowed to.." He trails off, his sentence ending in a tremor.

The tension seeps from Hinata's shoulders, if only a bit; neither of them is quite convinced, but the promise of spring after winter leaves no room for tension or spite. He presses a hand against Komaeda's, which is taken as an affirmation.

White hair like snowfall tickles the side of Hinata's face as Komaeda moves against him, his movements almost mechanical as opposed to fluidity they bore during their short-lived exchange.

They stay there in silence at first, watching the sun descend down the pathway of the colored sky. Hinata writes into his notebook again, but the words are  less urgent, as though the silence was what he needed to savor them. The songbirds playing atop the branches retire when the semi-circle of the sun kisses the purple horizon.

"More bakenekos? They sure seem to like you," Komaeda laughs, clearly amused by the progression of Hinata's notes. Hinata suppresses a groan at that.

_It's cute until you have approximately 20 of them chasing after your bike.... on your way to school._

"Twenty," Komaeda says flatly. He looks torn between amused and concerned. Hinata thinks he should be concerned. He also thinks there's something pretty about his expression, something curious about the twitch of his upper lip, his half smile, his lidded eyes that widen a fraction in surprise.

He still can't understand Komaeda or what's truly going on through his head. Not really.

_Yes. Twenty. Goddamn. Bakenekos. All chasing after my bike._

This elicits a smirk out of Komaeda, which frustrates Hinata to no end. Being chased by bakenekos is absolutely not funny. It's terrifying, on the contrary, especially when one considers that unlike normal cats, they can sprint after you _on their hind legs_.

"How funny, Hinata-kun! I'm sure my knowledge is extremely limited when it comes to youkai compared to your own experience, so I'm certain you're aware that bakenekos sometimes devour humans and take their forms. Correct?"

Riiiiiiip!

There's a dissonant sound that fills the air, courtesy of Hinata tearing a page from his notebook. Under the harsh coercion of his palms, he rolls it into a clumsy ball and chucks it at Komaeda.

... It gets stuck in his hair.

The dissonance fades, forgotten. The sound of Komaeda's laughter replaces it instead.

Hinata huffs, his frustration waning against his will. The crease between his eyebrows fades, and there's something within him that urges him to smile. He hides his mouth behind his hand to stifle it, but in the end, the sight of creamy paper caught amidst a snowstorm of hair wins out.

 

.

 

 

Winter's too harsh at times. Hinata _really_ doesn't like it. You'd think winters were meant to be quieter- but they can be just as chaotic as any other season, as he's learnt. He has no idea why, but youkai try their hardest  to ruin his life in every possible way during this season. Heaving a tired breath and sifting through the pages of his notebook, Hinata watches as Komaeda's expression transforms from neutral curiosity to a look of muted amusement. Komaeda’s eyes tear away from the words on the notebook.

"Yousei, huh?"

He only receives a nod.

Frankly, Hinata's gotten tired of shaking a colony of yousei out of his shoes every morning.

"How cruel of you to kick them out like that, Hinata-kun! It's so cold out in the winter."

 _They're spirits!_ Hinata writes insistently, frowning. Cruel his ass. They do it to aggravate him, he's sure. He hasn't forgotten about the Incident either. One of the yousei- an especially purple one - had taken it upon itself to cause Hinata as much suffering as its tiny form could bring forth. So diligent was it in its cause that it managed to hide in one of his socks, but not before digging through his stationary pouch and breaking the nib off of a pencil, with which it then proceeded to stab Hinata's toes repeatedly for the next couple of hours, during a very important class. Needless to say, he has little sympathy for that particular yousei.

"You think spirits don't get cold?" Komaeda says. His voice drops low now, and his eyes are fixed on Hinata. He almost looks... cartoonishly judgmental. The hell? Hinata squints at him, holding his gaze for a few charged moments before dropping it. Hinata shakes his head.

Then a thought occurs to him. As he writes, his grip on his pencil loosens to a gentle grip. Komaeda leans closer, peering over Hinata's shoulder. He watches as Hinata's hand shapes the words with care.

       

_...Do you?_

 

Komaeda raises his head to smile at Hinata. It's his usual grin- nearly permanent, its presence as tangible as the winter's bitterness. Still a little off. Still a little weary around the edges.

"To be honest, Hinata-kun, I don't really know."

"Hm," Hinata manages, chewing his lip thoughtfully. He dislikes the winter at its harshest, but not to feel cold at all...

He turns over the page.

_It feels like a hug. A hug that makes you feel a little numb._

"A hug." Komaeda says. He's smiling, still, but it's a little confused now. "And how.. does that feel like, Hinata-kun?"

Hinata winces. He has to write his next response- he has to, but he can't tear his eyes away from Komaeda at the implications of that question. He knows him to have led a lonely life, perhaps. A vacant one, maybe. He's yet again confronted by the realization that he knows very little. Too little, despite seeing so much. _You're so useless_ , chides an ever-present voice.

_A hug? Well I mean, it feels alright I guess. It really depends on who the hugs coming from and how much they mean to you. Have you not been hugged before?_

Komaeda watches the words for several seconds in silence before responding. He's not smiling anymore- though he's not frowning.

"I... don't remember. There's lots of things I don't remember, but I don't think so. The feeling of being held like that... I would think not." His neutral tone sinks into something more distressed.

His fingers dig into his arms. His breathing hitches, and though Hinata knows Komaeda doesn’t need to breathe, he finds it worrying.  

The notebook rests along the wooden desk, abandoned for the time being. Hinata's arms wrap around Komaeda's shoulders, painfully tight. He has to feel this- the pressure of Hinata's arms, the warmth of his breath against Komaeda's neck. The closeness in their proximity.

It has to feel warm. It has to convey something.

 _Do you understand now?_ Hinata wants to ask. _Do you understand what this is like? How do you feel? Is this okay?_

He feels the words fill his mouth and threaten to spill. But they don't.

So he remains still instead, holds onto Komaeda tighter. Tries to forget words, and winters, and youkai. And focus on…

 

This. Whatever it is.

 

.

 

 

“Destiny is a strange thing. Don’t you think so, Hinata-kun?”

Komaeda’s especially talkative today. Lively, almost. His hands move fluently through the air as he speaks.

“In the end, all comes down to the pre existing sense of balance in the world! Compensation-- karma, even, if you will. Where there’s an excess of something, there’s bound to be deficiency somewhere else. You were born with sixth sense due to the imbalance of yin and yang energies in your body. In compensation for your deficiency of one or the other, you now have unlimited access to the world of the spirits.”

Hinata stares at Komaeda intently, the gears in his mind turning in search for a conclusion to come to- he doesn’t quite understand the point that Komaeda is getting at, and he’s not quite sure he’ll like it.

_I guess that’s one way to put it? What are you getting at?_

Komaeda watches him write, but he looks like he’s buzzing with anxiety- like he can’t wait for his turn to let the words burst. It’s a little infectious.

“... I remembered.” Komaeda says, letting out a breath he didn’t need to hold in the first place. “I remember, and now I understand why I’m here. It’s pathetic of me, Hinata-kun, but sometimes, I couldn’t help but question the fate handed to me. I thought it wasn’t fair. As it turns out, it’s exactly what I deserve.”

Komaeda closes his eyes. He draws in deep inhale and spreads his arms out to the park, tips back his head, and laughs.

“I had everything in the world I could need when I lived…. and now I have nothing. I can’t remember the details very clearly, but I can remember their voices. I can remember the plane, and our destination, and being so excited to see Seoul, to feel real. And then I remember fire, smoke, screaming, tubes, white walls--”

Hinata feels his heart thunder with each word- he can’t help the tremor that runs through him, the jolt of surprise that his body express. This downpour of emotion is foreign. He doesn’t know how to deal with this- so he places firm hands on Komaeda’s shaking shoulders and waits for him to still- Komaeda’s smile  wide as ever, unrelenting.

“... I spoke out of turn.” he says, voice dropping to a whisper. “Forgive me.”

Hinata doesn’t say anything- can’t say anything - in response, and instead chooses to hold Komaeda’s gaze for a while longer. It’s hard when his first instinct is to look away. To catch his breath, and try to piece together what just happened.

He’s hyper aware of his trembling arms, irritatingly so. He is weak; useless; human.

He should reach for his notebook now. Write a response. A response that’s good, and appropriate, and helpful. Something that can fix this, something that can show Komaeda he understands.Only… who’s he kidding? What good have his words ever done? When has he ever said anything that hasn’t ended in pain?

Hinata’s draws him closer, holds him tight. He buries his face in Komaeda’s neck and pretends he can feel warmth.

He isn’t sure if the hug is reciprocated.

“I’m sorry.” Komaeda says, again. “I’m sorry.”

 _Don’t be_ , Hinata wants to say. He is aggravated at himself for not being able to utter the words, aggravated with Komaeda for doing this to himself, furious at the entire world for putting him in this position.

“You won’t face me. Are you angry? Did I upset you?”

_You didn’t. It’s not you I’m upset at. It’s not you._

“Hinata-kun… I don’t deserve this.”

Hinata’s chest is full of words; like flower buds, they cluster, clawing for an exit, wishing to bloom.

But the part of him that wishes has been silenced long ago.

“Ko…” he starts, and it hurts, and it’s hoarse and ugly and wrong and he can’t, he can’t, he can’t. “Komaeda.” Hinata exhales.

Immediately, Komaeda recoils from their embrace, eyes wide. And everything’s terrible and it hurts and the world is spinning but _Komaeda’s here_ . He is right there, his cold, lonely, difficult self, so goddamn difficult, so goddamn _beautiful._

Hinata stops thinking. He grabs him by the face and kisses him.

 

 

_._

 

 

“Hinata-kun.”

 

“Hm…?”

 

Hinata opens his eyes. Moonlight pours in through the paned windows of his bedroom. Stars dance in the outside’s night sky. The bed is a cocoon of excessive warmth.

How long has he been asleep?

“...I’m tired, you know? I want to sleep. I forgot what sleeping felt like.”

Hinata turns his head to the side, confused. His eyes fall onto the familiar scenery of his room, an organised mess of half- finished projects on canvases strewn around the wooden flooring; hung up paper notes and reminders decorating the walls above his makeshift workshop; school supplies and mismatched socks. Things that make this room his. The paintings he’s done of youkai sit hidden beneath his bed, collecting dust.

His body and mind are engulfed in a strange kind of drowsiness that he can’t quite shake off. Maybe… maybe he hasn’t slept enough. He hasn’t the energy to deal with yousei or wild spirits right now.

The voice resounds again. It’s soft, and for some reason, Hinata imagines its owner smiling.

“You were always so kind. I want, more than anything, to sleep beside you one day.”

...

Hinata’s face scrunches up a bit. What…

“Hinata-kun, I’m getting so tired now. I’ve missed this feeling.” A breathy laugh.

 _Where are you?_ Hinata’s head is swimming in fog, but there’s a thought there. There’s a name at the tip of his tongue, a memory of cold skin.

“Hah… I guess I’m here to say I’m sorry. Pathetic, right? That all I can do is apologise now. But I’m really, really scared… And talking to you always stills my heart. This is nothing but more selfishness on my part, I know. I’m so sorry I disappeared on you the other day, when we…” The voice trails off, strained. When it pipes up again, it sounds far more chipper.

“Have you… ever heard of the red strings of fate, Hinata-kun? The strings that tie two fated people together, no matter what life has in store for them. Even if they're seperated in one life, they’ll meet… over and over and over in others. Isn’t it so terrible of me to be thinking of something like this about us?”

There’s a long pause. Hinata fixes his eyes on the yellow ceiling. He shouldn’t be awake.

“Go to sleep.” And then, very quietly,  “I love you.”

“...Huh?” Hinata blinks slowly. “Huh?”

Hinata waits for the voice to come back again, but it doesn’t. His eyelids grow heavier and heavier. He should, he _should_ … He _can’t_ go to sleep just yet. Because it’s…

It’s dark out. And moonlight still showers the side of his bed, and the ceiling is growing uninteresting. Hinata can’t remember what he was worried about.

He closes his eyes.

 

.

 

 

Hinata sits by their bench and whips his head around in frivolous search anytime he hears a sound for the next hours. His sketchbook rests open on his lap, but his hands shake as he draws.

He waits. He waits. The next day too, and the one after that.

He flips through the pages of notes, writes stories of encounters with youkai he wishes to share with Komaeda when he returns, and keeps his protection charm tucked far away, at the bottom of his backpack.

All things come full circle in life.

Eventually, even the most brutal winters pave the way to gentle springs.

Life leads to death leads to life.

It’s years later that the koi fountain in that lovely little park falls apart, its once bright white stone succumbing to grimy gray. Greenery overwhelms what human maintenance fails to reach. What life has forgotten, nature remembers; and thus the weeds find themselves a home among the cracks in the fountain. Vines creep along the legs of the wooden benches, saplings that grow into trees sit recklessly beyond their borders.

Bright, young buds which the seasons ease into blossoming flowers dot the park with their promise of beauty.

Tomorrow never stops coming.

 

.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Re incarnation(n.)**

"the rebirth of a soul in another body."

 

.

 

Summer is a kind season. A time may come when the sun's sheen is too harsh, or when the streets that hold the flood of relieved students for the season become a bit too packed, a bit too welcoming of the Rush Hour swell in numbers under blistering heat. It gets more annoying than anything when summer's kindness becomes a local inconvenience, but what can one do? Shake their fist at the sun and tell it to pack its warmth for the next four months and leave?

Whatever.

Despite everything, summer's kind. It's still Hajime's favourite season for various reasons, the most important one being that Naegi & Nidai Ramen Store is kicking off. Hinata likes supporting his friends, but he also likes free food, especially when the free food is good and doesn't poison you for the next week and the half (never again, Enoshima's udon. Alright, it was his fault for agreeing to eat anything Enoshima made. She's so questionable that he wouldn’t be surprised if a member of the police force showed up, handcuffed her, and took her away any moment. She also refused to stop stealing his contact lenses from his backpack.)

"Hinata-san!" Sonia waves him over from up ahead. Somehow, she's managed to make it through the crowd untouched, twenty or so feet ahead of him. Her smile is unwavering. Hinata can practically feel the radiant energy she exudes. It's a bit weird to see her this excited over ramen, but he's well acquainted with Sonia's borderline obsessive love for it. He's glad to see her happy, if nothing else.

"How did you make it all the way over- wait, Sonia, wait-!" Hinata wades his way through a sea of college students heading in the opposite direction, wincing out apologies through gritted teeth.

When he finally makes it to the other side, Sonia is beaming.

"That only took you two whole minutes and thirteen seconds, Hajime-san! It's a record. Last time you got stuck in a crowd, I thought they'd trampled you for good."

Hajime flushes, indignant. "Hoards of college students are the worst, okay? Especially those freshmen- I can't move through because I feel like _I'll_ trample the-"

 

A tap on his shoulder interrupts his sentence, and Hajime turns around swiftly.

 

It's a man. A young man, standing as tall as Hajime himself, if not slightly taller. He's smiling a funny sort of smile, as though he's keeping a secret from Hajime that he's very excited to share. He looks harmless, though, with snowy white hair framing soft features and large gray eyes that stare, and stare, and stare. There's a peculiar sort of prettiness to him.

"...Hajime-san?" Sonia pipes up. She sounds hesitant.

Hajime blinks once. Then again. _Oh-_ he's been staring. His cheeks dust red.

"Ah, right- sorry, uh. Can I help you with anything?"

The stranger tilts his head to the side, upkeeping that odd smile of his. He extends a pale hand, and nestled in his grip is...

Hajime's eyes widen. "Oh, my wallet- did I drop it? Among a stampede of college freshman? _Yikes-_ thank you so much."

Hinata reaches for his wallet, onlyand finds that the snowy haired stranger doesn't quite let go. Hajime stares. The stranger stares back. Sonia is probably staring at them, too. Hajime is suddenly uncomfortably aware of all the staring that's taking place.

"Your eyes," the stranger says, letting go of the wallet.

"Pardon?" says Hajime.

The other young man watches him quietly for a moment. Then he closes his eyes, and Hajime can't help but note that his eyelashes are long- it's a curious thing, this strange man's set of features striking a chord in his memory.

"Have we met before?" The question comes from both of them, spoken in flawless unison. Hajime swallows the lump in his throat- suddenly, his self consciousness is replaced by a far more demanding emotion, one he can't quite label.

The stranger opens his eyes at the same time Hajime draws in a sharp inhale.

  
"I don't think so," the former of the two finally responds. His smile hasn't dropped since the conversation began, but it has turned somewhat apologetic. "I'd remember eyes like yours. One a unique merge between hazel and green, the other bright red... You know, my friend is very superstitious. If I were her, I'd think one eye detects evil, and the other detects hope."

"...Th-thank you?' Hajime sputters, raising a hand to his eyes. "Uh, you're probably correct. I don't remember you, either."

"Sorry." The man tips his head. "I spoke out of line, didn't I? I really don't have a filter at all, haha! Either way, I'm thankful for the opportunity to meet you." He raises his head, his grin reinforced, and extends a hand.

"My name's Komaeda Nagito." With his other hand, he points at the store cheerfully. "Naegi-kun's an acquaintance from college, and he's asked me to help with some work at the store... I'm most honored that he'd trust someone like me with something that means so much to him.”

Komaeda’s hand is pleasantly warm. The touch lingers but a moment, and Hinata’s embarrassed to find that he misses it when it finally goes.

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Sonia says as a somewhat dazed Hajime lets go of Komaeda’s hand. “But my, what a coincidence! It seems the world’s a very small place after all, Komaeda-san. We’re actually headed to Naegi-san’s right now.”

“Ah, is it now?” Komaeda keeps smiling. “I think I just happen to be very lucky… Sonia-san, was it?”

“Sonia Nevermind.” Sonia gives him an affirmative nod . Her eyes pass between Komaeda and Hajime, and her smile widens eerily. Suddenly, Hajime is hit by the animalistic instinct to _bolt,_ but he’s pretty sure that’s not socially acceptable to do while trying to uphold a conversation. He focuses his attention on Komaeda again instead, and it’s not difficult to do so at all.

“Right-” he says, “it’s Hinata Hajime, by the way. Thanks a lot for bringing me my wallet back.” Hell.. he’s out of words. What next?

“Hey,” he continues slowly after a moment of hesitance, “let me treat you to some ramen at Naegi and Nidai’s as thanks.”

Komaeda’s eyes immediately widen. “Oh, no, that’s not necess-”

“We’re both headed to the same place anyway,” Hajime insists. “Just let me do this for you, Komaeda.”

Komaeda stills a moment. His smile melts into something less expressive, but infinitely more tranquil. Hinata’s heart misses a beat. Did he say something wrong?

A smile returns to Komaeda’s face. But it’s not quite the same one.

“... Ah, please forgive me. It’s just… hearing you say my name is strange- not in an unpleasant way at all, though. It fills me with calm.”

Hinata breathes in quietly. He doesn’t know what that means.

“That.. means you accept my offer, then? I really wish you’d just say yes.”

Komaeda’s smile, now, is eccentric as it was before: indecipherable, mysterious, and above all, pretty like no other.

“If you and Nevermind-san will have me, then it’d be very rude of me to refuse. I guess Nevermind-san is right about the world being small. Sometimes, the world can be small enough to accommodate for wishes.”

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm phil, 16, and i never learnt how to finish things on time or stick to word limits. i joined this exchange thinking i'd write a 2k fic at most... asdfghjkl
> 
> either way!! this was rlly fun to write and took me some brain storming. big thanks to my beta clem for helping make this fic smth presentable rather than the mess it otherwise would have been.
> 
> and to my friend momiji for helping me out with japanese folklore and helping me out with things i couldn't understand/had no previous knowledge of before writing this fic. i know the original prompt asked for biblical spirits and such, so i really hope this still satisfies the requester.
> 
> in the words of my beta... do fill the appreciation jar with kudos and comments if you have time, my soul is wheezing rn


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